Contestation
by Bartimus Crotchety
Summary: This is a true story...a story of what happens when two Victorian gentlemen stop being nice, and start being real. One careless act, one minced word, a prank in response...then things really went South side! Real World 221b Baker Street.


**Story Notes:** Yet another entry for a weekend prompt for the Watson's Woes LJ community. This one was to the prompt:

"Any type of prank or practical joke - whether played _on _Watson or _by _Watson or _both_. April Fool's, random pranks, pranks gone wrong, crack-fic or serious, good-natured or mean-spirited - anything goes, so long as it's Watson-centric."

I had fun writing Holmes and Watson as petty, squabbling, and without the usual decorum. No one can prank and push you like someone who knows you well! These two men are more like brothers than they are friends or flatmates, and as such, there are times you want to kill your sibling if possible!

I hope you enjoy this little out of character romp.

**Bart**

* * *

**Contestation**

Holmes reflected later, after the proverbial dust had settled, the actual victor of the conflict was moot.

The childishness began rather early, two o'clock in the dead of morning to be precise. It was not Holmes' fault that the case he was working on had him in a dreadful state of agitation. You think the blasted medico would be used to his nocturnal ramblings, but when Holmes decided to get in some target practice, the man appeared at the top of his stairs extremely dishevelled and in poor form.

"Holmes! What is the meaning of firing weapon indoors in the dead of night! Have you no decency or compassion for those of us clear enough of conscience to actually find sleep?"

Holmes was appalled. "I assure you, Doctor, my conscience is as clean as Mrs. Hudson's kitchen."

Doctor Watson rolled his eyes and huffed. "Assuming you actually had a conscience, I doubt so much."

He closed the door to his lair with a slam.

Holmes had puffed on his pipe for nearly an hour miffed, offended, and in poor temper. Truth be known, if he had feelings they would have been hurt at that moment. That was his only excuse for what transpired next.

It was a simple chemical in Watson's shaving kit, placed upon the soap. Odourless and scentless, nonetheless when the man growled and prowled his way around in the morning light, he went to see to his toilet, not long after there was a yelp.

"What did you do?" he barrelled out into the sitting room bare-chested in a fury.

Holmes glanced up and did a double take, innocently of course. "Whatever do you mean dear Doctor, why are your hands and face that dreadful shade of blue? You are not becoming Cyanotic are you? How's your breathing, dear chap? "

"You know damned well why I'm blue." The azure gremlin snarled in a threatening tone.

Holmes made sure he looked hurt."I have informed you that the soap you are fond of is not the best on the market, it is not my fault you've happened upon a bad batch."

The vile invectives the man was capable of were quite astonishing, really. How he could kiss his many female suitors with that mouth was beyond Holmes.

Watson refused to speak for the next day, until the blue in his face had retreated to a sickly green. Then suddenly his mood seemed to revive.

Holmes was immediately suspicious.

The man was not devious enough to get revenge though, so Holmes was not entirely concerned, until he went to use his violin and his cheek and hands stuck fast.

He tried for nearly an hour to get free before he bellowed for that infernal veteran to get his devious, altruistic arse down here and get him loose.

Doctor Watson took his sweet time descending. "What seems to be the problem Holmes?" He asked in a sweet, kind manner, showing just how dearly he wished to be of service.

"You know what the problem is, now get me free," Holmes bellowed doing an awkward dance with the infernal instrument. "Release me this instance."

Watson looked concerned. "I will aid you, as soon as I return to my normal skin pigmentation. While you are in possession of your violin, however, I'd dearly love to hear that Strauss piece you do so well.

Holmes gave him a gesture to show him just what he could expect musically from his flatmate that evening.

Watson chuckled and walked back up into his den, likely to plot more evil.

Holmes glared as he watched the man go. Revenge would be swift, he vowed.

In the next day, the escalation was dramatic.

A rumour started in the various wards Watson was wont to visit, that he was in love with a woman he met in his travels. The identity left secret. The man, accosted by every eligible female within his vicinity, was nearly at his wits end by the end of the day. He came home to 221b with his clothing torn, his face mottled with lipstick, stinking of perfume and livid.

Holmes, nursing a bandage on his cheek where he had to remove the top layer to pull the instrument away, was lounging with his pipe unlit match in hand. "Have a nice day, Doctor?"

Of course, once he lit his pipe and took that first puff of the special shag, secreted in his pouch earlier by hands unknown, the coughing fit that lasted for the next hour seemed to mollify his roommate somewhat.

A hansom, paid off to take Watson to the far reaches of the South side and put him out without a return visit, was the next event in the dual. Holmes thought the man ready to give up the match when he returned looking haggard and limping that evening, but the bright anger and challenge in those hazel eyes bespoke of dire deeds planned on the long trek back.

Of all the horrors Watson could have visited upon his person, a summons to Diogenes Club brought Holmes into contact with his elder brother, who was under the impression that Holmes had agreed to get involved in the infernally boring activities of the empire. An entire afternoon spent squirming, as his older sibling droned on in perpetuity about sugar cane futures and the economic impact of new shoe leather discovered just that past month. Mycroft would not let him leave until he had heard all the current projects in minutia.

When Holmes left later, his mind was so numb he could not remember his own home address. He arrived to find that Watson had already had dinner, informing Mrs. Hudson that he would be dining alone.

"You!" Holmes sputtered.

Watson smiled and turned back to his paperback. If Holmes had his pistol handy, he would have tried a new target for his practice.

In a fit of anger, Holmes dived across the table and dumped Mrs. Hudson's tea set on the floor as he and Watson rolled around trying to get purchase. They wallowed all in the broken shards, it was fortunate that they were not cut, but the frustration had to come out as neither man could get the upper hand.

"What is going on here?"

Holmes and Watson froze, Holmes on top of the other man, both in a dreadful state. They turned to see a furious landlady. Even from their sideways vantage point, she looked terrifying.

"You two grown men, acting like children, why I never! If that tea set is not replaced with equal or better quality china by the end of the week, you will both be looking for other lodgings! Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson," they called in tandem. She huffed and spun on her heel, they heard her angry mumbles all the way down the stairs.

They helped each other up, and quietly began to pick up the rubble, setting furniture to right.

Holmes looked up to see Watson holding a hand out to him in what was obviously a conciliatory gesture. He accepted it graciously.

"Truce?" Watson inquired cautiously.

"Absolutely, you are a worthy adversary, Doctor," Holmes informed.

They began to sit down when Watson called out. "Holmes, watch out!"

Holmes' chair collapsed, sending him to the floor.

Watson tried not to laugh, but when Holmes reached up and grabbed his shag still seated on the floor and began to puff as if nothing untoward had occurred, his discipline failed him.

**Fine**

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**Notes:**

**NOTICE: No Stradivarius violins were harmed in the writing of this story  
**

Holmes most likely used Benedict Solution on Watson's soap. It dyes anything with sugar content blue, we have sugar in our sweat as a natural aid to the pancreas. Watson most likely used a adhesive which would have been around at this time that had a yeast base, it would stay tacky for quite sometime before Holmes picked up his instrument.

The rest of the pranks were pretty self-explanatory.

I tried to think of the one prank that would cause Holmes to attack Watson...forcing him to listen to his brother in an atmosthphere of sheer boredom would have done it!

Holmes would never cross Mycroft even to get away from such torture, Watson would know this LOL!


End file.
